The Love Hotel Stakeout
by Eerie
Summary: The two detectives are summoned to a stakeout on Port Island and have to stay at the Seaside Clamshell Inn. Rotating waterbeds, mirrored ceilings, general chaos. Slash.


**Author**: Eerie

**The Love Hotel Stakeout**

"Hey, Dojima-san! We're all set!"

Dojima sighed at the naïve, satisfied tone in the voice summoning him from the threshold of the automatic doors. Leave it to Adachi to not give a second thought to a situation like this. The night was cool and inviting, but the building behind the wall he currently leaned against was doubtlessly the opposite. God. What had he done to deserve this assignment anyway?

The detective took one final heavy drag from his smoldering cigarette before flicking it away in a twirling arc. He watched it land on the hard pavement, erupting in a shower of orange sparks, and wished it hadn't been his last one. Hell, he wouldn't even mind the fact that the night was just beginning and he had just smoked his last cigarette if he'd had a bottle, but he was on duty. That was one rule he always refused to break.

"Everything okay?" Adachi had nudged up beside him without Dojima even realizing it.

Sighing, Dojima turned to enter the hotel and didn't bother to spare a glance at his partner. "Let's just get this over with."

Well, at least he could get Adachi to play gofer later on. Coffee and smokes would be his top priority, but first they had to check in with headquarters as soon as their location was secured.

The two men trekked through the lobby—lushly decorated in far too many shades of pink for any reasonable man's mind to comprehend—toward the elevator, passing the registration desk. Though he tried to avoid making eye contact, that smug look on the hotel clerk's face was not lost to Dojima. His cheeks warmed considerably despite his resolve to play all of this completely cool. Adachi had told the guy they were there on police duty, hadn't he? Damn Adachi. He probably blundered their story somehow; made this all sound like some kinky game they were playing. Yeah, two wackos getting their rocks off on suits, red ties, flashy badges, and god only knows what else.

Shit. Dojima muttered a personal reprimand under his breath as he pushed the elevator call button. He shouldn't have been entertaining thoughts of anything along that particular avenue whatsoever. But here they were, in a rather upscale _love hotel_ on Port Island for fuck's sake. What were people _supposed_ to think? A queasy feeling turned about in his stomach and he hurried into the elevator as soon as the door opened, nearly running headfirst into a giddy and slightly disheveled-looking man and woman. As the couple stepped out of the elevator, the woman slyly turned to give Adachi a once-over and then winked knowingly in Dojima's direction. The younger detective turned his head to follow her with his usual wide-eyed gaze, his face completely slack at the jaw.

"Damn it, Adachi, will you quit goofing off and get in here already?!" Dojima reached out and snagged his partner's arm, yanking the slim man inside the car. He hammered on the button to close the elevator doors, praying no one else would have to see them together. "Which floor is it?"

"Oh, um, the third. Room three-twelve." Adachi shook the room key in the air as if to affirm their destination. He shoved it back into his jacket pocket and fiddled with his tie in the nearest mirrored wall of the car before sweeping a lazy hand through his hair.

Dojima watched him preen for a while and finally sighed in irritation. "Do you have to do that?"

"You know," Adachi said as if he hadn't heard his partner speak, "to be honest, I'm kinda relieved we get to be on an assignment like this. I mean, we've never been on a stakeout in an actual hotel room before. Sure beats sitting all cramped up in the car any day."

"This isn't a vacation we're talking about here," Dojima retorted. "And even if it was, I'm sure we'd both be miles away from a place like this."

Adachi shrugged and glanced around the sparkling elevator. "Seems pretty nice to me."

"Y-you're joking, right?"

"Huh? What's to joke about?" Adachi looked genuinely confused. Naturally he wouldn't have bothered to research the area prior to arriving.

Dojima ran a tired hand over his forehead and eyes, refusing to carry the conversation any further. Luckily he didn't have to. The elevator lightly bounced to a stop and announced their arrival on the third floor with a melodic chime as the doors whisked open. Adachi stepped out first, looking in both directions to get a bearing on the order of the room numbers. Turning back toward his senpai, he smiled and pointed to the left.

They wandered toward the room, which wound up being at the end of the hall. Well, Dojima thought, at least Adachi had gotten the side of the building right. Once he had managed to get the door open, Adachi flipped both switches on the wall. Instantly, the room before them became illuminated in pale rose-tinted light. But that wasn't what made Dojima's sick feeling intensify. No, it was the sight of the single, pink, _heart-shaped_ bed in the middle of the room turning in lazy circles beneath a fully mirrored ceiling that made him want to high-tail it the hell out of there. Screw the Force.

"Whoa awesome!" Adachi practically shrieked as he kicked off his shoes and ran straight toward the gaudy bed. Throwing his duffel bag on the floor, he leaped back-first onto it in a manner reminiscent of a five-year-old aspiring to be a high jumper. "I've never slept on a waterbed before! This is so sweet! Hahaha! I'm already getting dizzy!"

Dojima quickly shut and locked the door behind him, not wanting his partner's juvenile yips to leak from the room any more than they already did. Well, at least they were out of eyesight now. Not that the overly seductive atmosphere of the room did much to ease him of any remaining discomfort. And the strained bed's squeaking motor/squeaking occupant duo was quickly getting under his skin.

He flipped the nearest switch back down and almost enjoyed the look of disappointment on his partner's face when the bed came to a halt. "For God's sake, Adachi, are you a grown man or not? How many times do I have to tell you we're on the clock? Now get that equipment set up."

Adachi looked sheepish as he climbed off the bed and reached toward the discarded duffel bag. "Sorry, just having a little fun. It's not a terrible thing to do every now and then, Dojima-san, even when you're working."

Dojima fumbled in his jacket pocket for his nonexistent cigarettes. Damn. He'd hardly made it ten minutes and he was already having a nic-fit. He considered ordering Adachi to the store while he set up instead, but wondered if he should go this time. The room's overbearing air, thick with the smell of cheap tea rose potpourri to cover up the stale stench of sex, was already getting to him.

"What kinds of people want to come to places like this anyway?" he mumbled, more to himself than to his partner. "Even Chisato would have been appalled if I'd so much as mentioned—" Thinking about his deceased wife made the all too familiar despair scrape its timeworn claws over his heart and Dojima trailed off. A dull, palpitating ache gripped his chest. It must have showed on his face, too, because Adachi was approaching him with a strangely tender expression.

"Hey, you okay? You look a little bit pale." Adachi reached out to rest a hand on his senpai's shoulder but Dojima shrugged him off and walked toward the window.

"It's nothing. Forget it." Though he wanted to do just that, he couldn't help thinking about her now that her ghost had been summoned in his mind. He remembered the last time they had shared a hotel room, about a year after Nanako was born. It was meant to be a romantic little getaway from the hubbub and stresses of everyday life. They had been here on Port Island that time as well, but naturally nowhere near Shirakawa Boulevard. Chisato wanted something simple, something comfortable and nonthreatening, something reminiscent of home. He remembered being disappointed at her lack of adventure initially, but he'd learned to swallow his selfish desires when it came to her. Anything for Chisato. That was the last, happiest time he had ever shared with her. And then she was gone…just…gone forever.

Dojima felt weak and slumped down onto the edge of the bed, resting his forehead in his palm. He didn't want this to happen. Not here, not now. He didn't want Adachi to sit beside him, silent and barely stirring, pondering what to say.

"Is there…is there something I can get for you?" the younger man asked cautiously.

"Yeah. Smokes. And some strong coffee." Dojima managed to wrench his wallet out of his back trouser pocket and fish a few notes out. He pressed them into Adachi's hand, which to his surprise lifted and closed firmly over Dojima's before he could release the money. Dojima looked at his partner, slightly bewildered. Was he delusional, or did Adachi look like he was enjoying this a second ago? He must have been imagining it, because that expression was already gone, replaced with concern, and Adachi released his hand.

"You sure you're gonna be alright? You've been acting kinda weird since we got here."

The seasoned detective's usual mild irritation began to return. "No, it's fine. I was just thinking about my wife for a minute there."

Adachi looked at the floor and nodded. "It's been a long time since then, hasn't it? Don't you…think you can ever learn to move on?"

Dojima practically flew off the bed, defensive. "Shut up, Adachi. You'll never understand what it's like, so don't even bother trying to give me useless advice." He turned and swept up the bag from the floor. After extracting the tripod, binoculars, and camcorder, he set them up at the window and took a moment to adjust the focus. The window of the building across the street was dark and still. He hadn't heard Adachi get up, only the soft click of the door when it shut.

*

About twenty minutes later, Dojima heard the key in the lock and tensed. It had been so quiet during the time Adachi had been gone that he'd slipped into a kind of meditative state. Adachi balanced his weight against the wall as he toed off his shoes and came into the room bearing a convenience store bag adorned with a big yellow smiley face. His own expression nearly mirrored the bag. That sloppy grin rekindled Dojima's remorse at being so hard on his partner.

"Hey, Adachi, listen. I didn't mean to snap at you earlier. It's just…"

Adachi shook his head. "No worries, Senpai. Here." He handed over a pack of cigarettes and watched Dojima tear into them. The look of relief on the older man's face once he had one alight was a thing of amusement, and Adachi laughed.

"I'll never understand how you can suck those things down."

Dojima half-smiled. "Well I would be lying if I said it wouldn't be better with booze right about now."

"Da da da daaaaa!" Adachi grinned mischievously and pulled a dark bottle of whiskey out of the plastic bag.

"What the hell?" Dojima nearly choked on the smoke he exhaled. "Are you out of your gourd?"

"Sorry, Dojima-san. It's just that you seem so stressed out. It's just the two of us, stuck here all night. I doubt the suspect'll even show up. And it's not like anyone has to know."

Oddly enough, Dojima couldn't bring himself to protest when Adachi unscrewed the cap and unapologetically offered it to him. Instead, his hand moved shakily to take the bottle. He was too absorbed with the battle taking place in his conscious to notice that it was only half full.

"Why don't you take five, Dojima-san? I'll keep up the surveillance for a while." Adachi patted the older man's shoulder in encouragement.

Dojima stood and let his normally submissive partner take the chair in front of the window. "You're the one who's acting weird today," he said and sat on the edge of the infernally unstable bed.

Adachi laughed again and peered through the binoculars for a moment at the building across the way. "Pretty quiet over there." He leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms high above his head. "Say, why do you think they needed a couple of detectives from Inaba to help out on this assignment anyway? Are they that short-handed?"

Dojima shrugged. "Probably cause they couldn't get enough of their own guys to agree to come to some seedy love hotel together."

Adachi's arms dropped and a look of surprise distorted his face. "L-love hotel?"

"Huh? Don't even shit me, Adachi. There's no way you couldn't have known." Adachi couldn't be _that_ dense. Dojima was too tired and aggravated in general to care about protocol tonight. He drew a long pull from the bottle and winced as it burned a path down his throat. God that felt good though.

Then again, maybe Adachi was that thickskulled. The younger detective continued to stare at his partner with the same shocked expression, as if trying to sort out a puzzle in his head. "Then, you…and me…we're…"

"The hell are you blabbering about?" Dojima scowled.

"T-that's …oh god!" Adachi's face bloomed into a fiery shade of scarlet as he jumped out of the chair and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dojima was too surprised to move for a moment. Did he miss something here? Finally finding his resolve with another tug from the whiskey, he set the bottle down on the bedside table and walked to bathroom door. He tried twisting the knob but it was firmly locked in place.

Knocking, he called out. "Hey, Adachi! What the hell's the matter with you? Open the door!"

No answer.

"Adachi. I'm gonna count to three and if you don't come outta there I'll be on the phone with the chief in five seconds. One. Two."

The lock clicked and the door opened a crack to a distressed Adachi. He almost looked as though he'd been crying, but his reddened face seemed dry.

Dojima took in the sight with dismay. "Would you mind telling me what in the world is going on?"

Adachi's face crunched up like he was about to bawl before he lunged out and hugged Dojima tight around the waist. The force was so unexpected that they both toppled over: Adachi landing with a heavy thud on top of Dojima's quickly stiffening body.

"Oh Dojima-san! I'm sorry! I had no idea!"

"Wh-what are you doing?!"

"I shouldn't have been such an insensitive jerk! I should've known it'd be harder for you in a place like this!"

"Adachi! Get the hell off! What do you—hey, are you already drunk?"

Adachi buried his face in Dojima's chest. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stand thinking I'd pissed you off like that." His words came out muffled. "I know now though."

"H-hey now," Dojima's hands wavered over the body crushing his own, not quite sure whether to push the man off or try to quell the pathetic ripples that occasionally shook the smaller frame. "Stop it. I'm not mad at you okay?! Damn."

Adachi looked up, his hair mussed with the static from Dojima's clothes. His expression seemed to have softened considerably, but what replaced it was difficult to read. "Hey, Dojima-san, there's something I've wanted to ask you for a long time. Can I?"

"If it'll calm you down, then shoot."

A lazy smirk hugged Adachi's lips. "Why is it you wear this cologne every day?"

Dojima grunted and tried to shift away, but Adachi's current position had him pinned down. He never realized how deceptively strong that wiry frame really was. "What? Why? What's wrong with it?"

Adachi lowered his head and moved his body further up, taking a long, appreciative draught of his senpai's scent until he reached Dojima's neck. "Nothing. I think it's really…addictive. Is it because it goes so well with your natural scent? Or could it be that you buy that pheromone stuff?"

"Okay, enough of this weird shit already! Listen, I'm your superior and I'm ordering you to move!" Dojima tried to squirm away again but Adachi deliberately seized the older man's wrists in a bruising grip. It was clear he meant business.

"Kinda strange that a widower so caught up in mourning would bother with something trivial like that, hm? And that shirt collar? Not exactly professional leaving the top unbuttoned like this." Adachi shifted Dojima's wrists into one steely hand and used the other to slip a finger into the already loosened tie at the man's neck. It came unbound with ease.

Dojima recognized with dread the look in his partner's half-lidded eyes, but he didn't want to believe it. No, there was no way. He had to have been mistaken…

Adachi cocked his head to the side and chuckled. "God, Dojima-san. You put all the signs out there and you don't even realize it. It's fucking irresistible." He'd never heard Adachi: bumbling, air-headed _Adachi_ of all people, talk even remotely in such a way.

And then Adachi was devouring his mouth like a famished predator—tongue delving so deeply against his own that Dojima thought he would gag. The taste of whiskey in the other's mouth was strong and thick. What the holy hell was happening? Dojima was too shocked to move. Maybe, just maybe, he'd hit his head and not realized it. Or better yet, he was just dreaming all of this.

But the sensation was far too palpable to have been a dream, and the hand that undid his tie was now wrenching the buttons on his pants loose with a certain unyielding violence.

Dojima began to panic now. "Hey! Stop!"

"Shhh," Adachi breathed against his lips. "Just shut that overexerted brain of yours up for a few minutes and relax." The younger detective's hand was already in his mentor's boxers, teasing the last of Dojima's body's doubt into rock-hard desire, despite what the man's mind wanted.

"Ah!" The pressure from someone else's attention on his cock was instantly and undeniably arousing. He didn't want it to be like this, but it had been so long since he'd felt it that is was difficult to fully protest.

And Adachi knew it.

Adachi shifted his weight and subtly loosened his grip on Dojima's wrists to test whether he could let them go without being pummeled, stroking all the while. When he was finally met with no more resistance, Adachi nudged his knee against Dojima's thighs and forced himself into the separation. He lowered his head and ran his tongue along the trail of dark hair that led from the man's navel downward until he reached his destination.

A firm, skilled hand was one thing. He could possibly have regained his senses and ended this surreal scenario. But when Dojima felt a warm, slick mouth fully envelope his aching cock, well, that was when all logic simply sputtered to a graceless halt. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate a good traditional fuck—he was a man after all—but _this_ was a luxury he rarely attained during his years of matrimony. Chisato didn't like to do it. In fact she only ever gratified him like this after they'd had an argument and she had been in the wrong. That was not often.

Eyes firmly closed, Dojima imagined her again, drawing up her image as the one doing those amazing things to him. But even then it made him feel guilty, like he was using her as an excuse to enjoy his body's degrading responses. It wasn't right.

Breath hitching in his throat, Dojima opened his eyes and studied the scene in the mirror above. Even seeing the short dark hair, the all-too familiar dark suit, the masculine fingers massaging the base of his erection didn't affect him the way it should have. If anything, it was strangely exciting. He'd never done anything like this with another man. Though how it was that Adachi was so adept was beyond him. Honestly, that was the last thing he wanted to know.

Dojima looked away from the mirror and down at the real thing. Adachi, as if reading his mind, briefly glanced up. Was his mind playing tricks on him, or was it just the lighting? Whatever it was, there was something frighteningly feral in the younger man's eyes. Dojima barely had time to register it before the instinct that he was on the verge of climax crashed through him. He tightened his hips and curled his fingers in that dark hair, letting himself go with it. He fucked Adachi's mouth hard and fast until the last shockwave subsided.

When it was over, Adachi lifted his hands to extricate Dojima's fingers from his hair and sat up before running the cuff of one sleeve over his mouth. Leering down, he smiled at the way Dojima's chest heaved, his arms bent on either side of his head with each loose fist resting against his eyes. It made him want to brutally take the man.

_No. For now, this was enough._

When Dojima finally found the courage to open his eyes again, Adachi jumped up and straightened his clothes like a maniac. "I'm so sorry! Please…I-I really don't know what came over me!" His face was the perfect expression of fear now.

Dojima sighed heavily and wrestled his own clothes into place. "You're drunk," he stated, deadpan, not looking at his partner now.

"Y-yeah, I guess you're right." Adachi blushed and scratched the back of his head. "Sorry."

Dojima stood and turned away. "We…can't ever talk about this. Is that clear?"

"I know."

Dojima strode to the table and lit another cigarette before seating himself stoically at the camcorder. "Do us both a favor and sleep it off."

Adachi, defeated, tromped toward the bed and crawled onto it. He lay on his side facing the opposite wall. After a moment of quiet, he shifted onto his back and hiccupped. "Dojima-san?"

"…What."

"Well, um. Nevermind."

"If you were about to ask me to switch that fucking bed on, I swear I'll strangle you in your sleep."

"S-sorry…"

Dojima reached for whiskey the bottle. It was going to be a _very_ long night.


End file.
